One Shall Stand
by Daenerys Starcatcher
Summary: My first effort at fanfiction onsite...Im trying to fix Dark of the Moon in certain ways. Warnings for possible unpalatable content within.      Getting offlined by a human? Starscream? NEVER!
1. Chapter 1

Hi! This is my first attempt here onsite, and it's my first TF story ever. I hope I'm doing it justice, because this idea has been rattling around in my head for about a month now. The storyline for [I]Dark of the Moon[/I], in my opinion, could have been so much better...and could have actually made SENSE, too. So, in the slightly selfish way that ficwriters are known for, I'm changing some things here. Not too much, mainly the fact that Optimus _SO would not have offlined any mech, even Megatron, after asking for a truce. Just wouldn't happen. So Megs is still alive...somewhere...and then a few elements from other continuities came to mind, and so this is born._

_R&R honestly, folks. Constructive criticism is welcome; flames just piss me off and I'm __**good at channelling Starscream. **_

Rating: M (language, violence, disturbing imagery, slash in later chapters, dubious consent, allusions of a...weird nature, sparkstuff. Alternate universe and original character(but not one of those nice things)...if any of this isn't your thing, then do us both a favor and read another fic.)

Continuity: Movieverse with AU elements, and a touch from others

Characters: Starscream, mainly...others to be determined. Soundwave and Megatron definitely, some Autobrats, and probably Witwicky too.

Disclaimer: I didn't come up with Transformers. If I had, then the movies' ratings would have been R and Megatron would probably be a [I]whole[/I] lot happier. Original character belongs to me, though.

**1: Awakening**

The first thing he felt was blazing pain, as if twin hooks had burrowed into his optics and _wrenched_, tearing the delicate sensor net with a strength that was horrifying, considering its source.

Oh, _**wait.**_

Then came the explosion that sent him into this state of near oblivion, watching with detached interest as he was quite definitively offlined, and offlined _messily_, by a group of squishies led by that little brat Sam Witwicky (what the pit is a Witwicky, anyway?), a Primus-damned cretin who seemed to have a knack for this sort of thing. He had managed to offline Megatron himself with the folded up Allspark a few years back, not exactly an easy task...but to torment and rip out Star's _optics? _

_I KNEW I should have flown off and dropped that little slagger at ten thousand feet. Starscream thought to himself with a growl at his own stupidity. _

'_THAT is going to hurt in the morning,' _Starscream thought sourly.

How many times had it been now? Seven? Twelve? Two hundred? No matter _-how-_ many times he had "died," it still sucked more than Devastator on a bender. Starscream went to drum his tapered fingers on his thigh, remembering then that not only did he not have fingers, the thigh was slagged as well.

'_I bet Wheeljack had something to do with this_,' he said to empty air, his Sparkform invisible and inaudible unless he willed it so.

'_I de-SPISE that walking time bomb. Maybe I got lucky and Shockwave finally captured him, he always did like 'em explosive,' _he thought nastily.

Shuddering mentally at the mere thought of the...odd... Autobot inventor, not to mention his sociopathic Decepticon counterpart, he used his senses to try and discover exactly where he was. Usually, when regaining awareness after offlining, he found himself in a disembodied state, alone, and with the universe's worst processor-ache.

Normally, his movement while in Sparkform was as unlimited as his imagination, seeing as nobody had ever gotten around to building a force screen that blocked astral travel. This fact was on Starscream's processor when he literally walked into an invisible wall.

"The frag?" he snarled, wondering if he'd finally lost what few bits of sanity that remained with him over the vorns.

A claw slid delicately forward, definitely hitting a barrier that was as solid to soul-stuff as cybertronium was to his original form.

Again: "The FRAG?" More emphasis this time, his scientific mind quite refusing to contemplate something that shouldn't exist.

' _I offlined on that mudball Earth,' _Starscream thought impatiently. '_Their level of technology was just about sufficient for them to kill themselves, not to contain a living Spark. Therefore, what in the Pit __**happened **__to me?'_

Shana looked down at the desk and mumbled several choice phrases, most of which would get her fired if her hypocritical boss overheard her. She reflexively grasped the crescent-moon-and-star pendant she wore, waiting for her aforementioned supervisor to finally quit flirting with the waitstaff and talk to her already.

Her boss leaned toward Marcy, who quickly took a step back, and Shana grasped the oddly colored metal more firmly.

As usual, the simple act of stroking the metal was soothing, something like meditation as she ran her fingers along the slightly sharp edges of the star in a rhythmic pattern. Forward, backward, tips grazing over the points and around the back in a tactile dance. It began to gather the warmth from her fingertips as she continued to watch Jimmy sexually harass yet another employee.

'_What, that's got to be four just this morning. Fucking pervert,' _Shana snorted inwardly.

Warmth. THAT kind of warmth, and Star knew that he shouldn't be feeling this while disembodied, not when the stark whiteness surrounding him offered no clue as to exactly where he was, not when his form was little more than a glowing point of light, and definitely not while he was alone.

All Starscream knew was that he felt as though someone was diddling his wingtips, both at _**once**_ even, no mean feat when you considered the Seeker's wingspan and _**oh**_, the fact that he no longer even HAD wings.

A particularly sensitive node was barely nudged and crimson optics flashed almost the color of blood, settling back to normal as Starscream balled up his right servo and cold cocked himself right between the optics in an attempt to wake his Spark from what was obviously some perverted flux. The sensation continued and he hit himself again, gasping in a bit more than just the pain from an intentional facepalm.

It didn't stop the insane pressure that streaked points of charged energy straight down his backstruts all the way into his nonexistent interface array, which felt pretty damn existent at this point. Star had always been highly easy to arouse, especially in the face of the unknown or while in danger, so the slow burn was literally driving him to press against the invisible walls in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

Shana worked her fingers worriedly, scanning her boss as he stride toward her with mixed feelings of contempt and fear. Her movements became sharp, tugging on the chain, jabbing the point of the topmost star into her thumb as a distraction.

'_I NEED this job, unfortunately, and damn it, that means kissing this dickhead's ass. I hate my life. Can it possibly get any worse?'_

Of course, the gods laugh whenever any being states such…

Primus laughed.

A thin crack in the pure whiteness stood out because of its obvious difference, the fact of it being a feature in an otherwise completely blank canvas. Starscream moved his "hand" toward it, his innate curiosity overwhelming even the basic programming that told him to _look, Primus damn you, before you lose a hand_! His metaphysical wings still tingling from the unknown onslaught, he stretched toward the crack...and was abruptly pulled halfway through. The feeling was both intense pleasure and ice cold shock, leaving him briefly dazed.

Chaos.

"What is it now, girlie?" Shana's manager, Jimmy, was the epitome of male chauvinist pig, from the top of his greasy hair all the way down to his Walmart reject work boots. A stained toothpick jutted from between his full, almost pouty lips, highlighting the two-day growth on his rather weak chin. An aroma composed of equal parts onions, grease, and unwashed armpit surrounded him like a choking miasma.

Shana gritted her teeth and tried very hard not to breathe through her nose.

"Jimmy, I need Saturday off. My sister's kids-"

His expression grew dark and he leaned toward her, one hand on the desk and the other in his pocket. He glared at her and interrupted.

"No. I told ya when I hired ya that Saturday nights were mandatory. In case you don't know what mandatory means, I'll tell ya: means do it or get fired."

An idle thought from -somewhere- streaked through her mind:

::_You fragging moron!::_

Since a reaction very near this was straining to come forth from Shana's thin lips she took a deep breath instead.

"I know, Jimmy, thank you for explaining but I really need the time...I'll work extra for whoever covers me, I'll-"

Jimmy smiled then, removing his hand from his pocket and moving closer to the small woman. She looked up at him, quite nervous, and involuntarily took a step back. He grabbed her arm, _hard_, and panic flooded her mind...then something cracked. As his fingers ghosted up toward her elbow, near her rather flat chest, she felt something **really odd...**

Starscream was yanked through what felt like a conduit the size of an average straw and emerged on the other side with a _slipping, sucking_ noise...and the sound of fleshling shrieks.

::_..nonononono...::_

::**Shut UP.::**

::.._.wha...::_

Starscream sighed and shook his...their...head.

::**Nevermind. What's this...oh PIT no!::**

Jimmy had begun stroking Shana's arm in a definite invitation, suggestion, and demand. His other hand grabbed her shoulder as she stood unmoving, almost as if catatonic. When Starscream opened the girl's eyes and realized exactly what was going on, all hell broke loose. He had a lingering charge in his systems, which felt really weird in this fleshling body, but he hadn't lived for vorns on a Decepticon warship surrounded by horny mechs for nothing!

"What in the bloody FRAG do you think you're doing, you ridiculous bag of flesh? I'll kill you where you stand, revitalize your pitiful spark, then hurt you so bad you'll BEG me to let you die!" He combined this mini-tirade with a sweeping movement of his arms, breaking the hold...but not nearly as decisively as he'd liked. His form was decidedly _not anywhere near what he was used to._

::**Weak..**.: he thought bitterly.

Jimmy's mouth dropped open, revealing a cavern pitted with half-shattered teeth and the remnants of a meal at least twelve hours old.

"You little _bitch_..."

Starscream was _very_ tired of that particular insult. It had been tossed at him no less than twice a cycle for the last thousand vorns, and it had gotten old BEFORE they'd even found Earth.

"Bitch? Maybe...but never _yours_, and I know that's just got to be killing you inside, you half-clocked miniglitch scraplet." Starscream was _pissed_, the form he seemed to be lodged in shaking both inside and out. He'd never liked those who intimidated him through sensual means, and in this pathetic form assault was something he had damn well better try and avoid. He reflexively looked to his arm, finding no null rays charged and ready to blast. An undersized fleshling arm wrapped with a thin metallic band was all that he had.

_Scrap._

_::What ARE you? What are you DOING? You're gonna get me fired, an' I NEED this job, even though Jimmy is crotch rot incarnate_!:: The body's owner fought Star, ineffectively. His mind captured hers in a blanket of electrons, both terrifying and comforting all at once.

::**SHUT UP.::**

Star looked up again, through Shana's eyes and the thick lenses she wore to modulate or refine her vision, and assumed a pose that most Decepticons would find quite familiar: the "Screamer's on a rampage and get the slag out of his way" stance. One hand languidly ran down the front of Shana's form, in a definite display of: _no way in Pit are you ever touching this, slagger__**.**_

Jimmy lost it.

"Get the fuck out of my restaurant, you psycho bitch!"

Shana's eyes nearly flashed Decepticon crimson as she slammed down her tiny fist on the table. "Frag off and die." With a graceful turn and an attempt to twitch nonexistent wings in a Vosian gesture of grave disrespect, Star left the place, talking to no one on the way.

Well, is it okay? I'm not going for a Mary Sue OC here; my plans aren't exactly nice regarding Shana.

Why Screamer's so complacent about possessing another: he's done it before, at least with another Cybertronian. Being pissed about the disrespect would stave off some of the rest of the disgust/apprehension.

Reviews are almost better than cheesecake. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Hi, everybody. Hope you're enjoying this. I deeply appreciate any and all reviews (except for the obviously dumb ones...anyone posting a simple "u suk" shall be forever consigned to a special place I keep on the outskirts of Hell).

Warnings for this chapter include language, violence, and something I'll call noncon even if it's not sexual in nature.

I own nothing but an entire set of McDonalds Transformer toys, including Star's discs.

~~~~~2~~~~~

The sun had just set when Shana and her unconventional passenger bolted out of the restaurant as if her hair was on fire and her ass was catching. Something _very _strange was going on, and she needed to be alone before she lost it in front of a bunch of random people. Her hand clutched at her pendant reflexively, working the metal feverishly, and inside her mind she heard a keening whine that almost made her want to rip her ears off.

_::You fragging fleshie, STOP that!::_

She dropped the crescent as if it had burned her, knees wobbling slightly as she finally reached the rustbucket she was forced to call a car. Sitting heavily on its hood, she heard the familiar "_squeeerchhh" _of old, tortured metal and devoutly hoped that her car wouldn't have an ass-shaped dent in it when she could finally stand again.

"What the _fuck." _she said to no one in particular, of course it was to no one, she was alone...right? She pulled her knees up almost to her chin, wrapping her long, thin arms around them, subconsciously trying to make herself as small and unassuming as possible.

"Why did I say that? Oh my God, now I don't have a fucking JOB, because what- I couldn't control my temper or something?" Talking to herself was a habit Shana had gotten into a long time ago, and even though she knew that people looked at her strangely she did it anyway.

Usually, she didn't get answers back, and never in another voice.

_::If you don't CALM DOWN I'm going to do something you definitely won't like, fleshling. And stop fiddling my wings unless you intend to finish what you start! ::_

Star would rather choke to death on a live minicon than actually 'face an organic, but it certainly got her attention.

"Okay...the _fuck_?" Shana said as she grabbed a handful of her own short, dark hair and _pulled_- at this, the other presence laughed unkindly.

_::Get into the vehicle, femme. I will try to explain things in the two syllable words that your underdeveloped primate processor will undeniably require.:: _

The mental tone was anything bit pleasant; Shana thought it sounded like a fine tenor voice with a really strange accent...crossed with the sounds three cats in a blender would make. Or three cats going at it; not much difference there.

If there was one thing that pissed Shana off it was when people talked down to her, when people treated her as if she were a moron. She jumped from the hood of the old Cavalier with no grace whatsoever, nearly tripping on the concrete divider that separated her parking space from another's. She swung open the door and settled in, moving an old Big Mac box and a half-full bottle of Dr. Pepper from the driver's seat onto the floor with a shove, where it joined similar items...some of which looked to be chemistry experiments in progress, if the green fuzz was any indication. Slamming the door shut, she pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it with a single fluid motion, wishing for the first tine in several years that it was something a little more potent than tobacco.

"I've finally lost it, haven't I? They say hearing voices means the end, not much they can do till you're locked in the loony ward doin' the Thorazine shuffle."

_::From the looks of __**this**__ place you never had it to begin with,:; _Starscream snarled. _::Mute it and listen to me. You are __**not **__insane...at least, my presence is not indicative of insanity. I am an actual being...I have just been temporarily separated from my body.:: _

If you could call "getting slagged by a bunch of humans, then dragged to Primus knows where" a temporary separation, anyway.

"Bullshit." Shana continued to speak aloud, and her derision at this idea was so thick you could spread it with a butter knife.

_::You were IN Chicago. How can you deny it?::_

"Chicago. Three weeks ago...the siege." Shana closed her eyes, remembering.

_The smell of scorched metal and human blood permeated the atmosphere, choking the four humans who huddled under a torn steel canopy as Hell raged before their very eyes. Gigantic mechs, complete with appropriate fantastic weaponry, were destroying the city with a glee that was pretty sickening. The dead lay twisted where they fell, mini-monuments to the utter disregard that the invaders had for Earth's true children._

_Shana brushed her bangs out of her eyes as she watched a rather well-trained military unit attempt to deal with one particularly large and aggressive robot. It was a soft grey in color, with an odd pattern along its metallic form that was actually beautiful if one ignored the fact that the canvas was one of the coldest beings in the universe._

_"Starscream!" One human male called out, almost in challenge, and the mech tossed aside the lamppost he had been holding and stared down at the fleshling._

_"Hey, Screamer, __**catch!" **_

_The human shot _something _into the air, connecting with the mech's optic and lodging there, effectively blinding the Seeker on one side._

_**"BOY, I'M GOING TO- **__MY EYE! MY EYES! FRAGGING GLITCHING BROKEN DOWN-" The words began to run together in a language Shana had never heard before; it sounded like the worst sort of electrical feedback and she winced._

_The mech swung the human around and around, attempting to dislodge the projectile, but was unsuccessful. The human aimed once more and hit his OTHER optic, shattering the red lens and causing its owner to flail violently around, shrieking and cursing and trying to shake the human vermin off so that he could fly away in peace. A Sabot round impacted just below his etched chestplate, slicing through the metal and lodging several shards directly within his transformation cog._

_He tried to assume his altform, the F-22 Raptor that had served him well since he was forced to come to this mudball. The initial shift began, then hopelessly aborted, flashing warnings in Starscream's HUD. _

_"Scrap." he said, right before the boomstick hit him in the face._

_Shana watched the mech's head fly off, landing fairly close to her hiding place. Several pieces of impossibly shiny metal lay near it, including a thin bar about six inches long. Shana looked around, making sure that no one noted her presence, then darted out to have a look at the "dead" robot. _

_The head was hot, obviously so, probably because it had just been violently separated from the body in one explosion of azure light. There didn't seem to be a face, exactly; on close inspection Shana saw that the majority of it was in fact a battle-mask that offered unparalleled protection...except from underneath. Sparks arced from broken wiring, so Shana didn't touch it, only retrieving the small bar. It was warm to the touch and fairly malleable, and she looked at it more closely._

_Four stars. SHARP stars, to be sure, but stars nonetheless._

_She cracked a small smile at that; she had apparently found alien robot jewelry. The object warmed at her touch, its silvery-grey surface shimmering like motor oil on the asphalt. She bent it slightly and it _transformed, _becoming a crescent moon with those impossibly sharp stars. _

_A loud __**boom **__from above interrupted her thoughts, so she put the crescent in her shirt pocket and scrambled to find another hiding spot, one that was more secluded and DIDN'T have evil alien robot corpses decorating the streets. Looking all around, she realized that THAT particular wish was definitely going unfulfilled, at least for now._

_"_Yeah, I was there. And?" Shana didn't really like thinking about it...the experience was a little too intense even for her.

_::You're wearing part of my infrastructure.:: _Starscream informed her. _::That would be part of my transformation cog, which is something I __**will **__have back.:;_

Shana sat up, banging her left kneecap on the bottom of the dash.

"I what? For a delusion, you really don't make a lot of sense!"

_::I'm not a delusion, you little fool, I'm the Decepticon second in command!::_

"What's a Decepticon?" Shana's innate curiosity was definitely going to get her killed one of these days.

_::Never mind THAT, fleshling, where is my body?::_

"How the hell am _I _supposed to know? Junkyard maybe? You sure got-"

Starscream stamped his "foot" within Shana's mind and she felt the beginnings of a headache blossom.

_::Don't say it, femme. You __**don't **__want to slag me off.::_

Shana laughed then, somewhat desperately. "What're you gonna do, haunt me?"

Starscream had had enough. Yes, he needed this vessel to get back into hid true form, but he damned sure didn't want to argue every step of the way. _He _was the Cybertronian. _He _was superior. And he knew just how to show it.

With no finesse and even less delicacy Star invaded Shana's thoughts, quickly constructing a web of soulstuff that captured her mind's physical form and drawing her partially into _his _prison, the broken bit of cog that had apparently decided to house his Spark.


End file.
